


Amo, Amas, Amat

by humanveil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Cross-Generation Relationship, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, No Second War with Voldemort, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 08:17:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9647753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanveil/pseuds/humanveil
Summary: Severus waits years to meet his soulmate. He hadn’t known what to expect, but it certainly isn’t this.Or, Severus is a Mama’s boy (he’ll deny it), Draco is as stubborn as they come, and Eileen wonders how she managed to raise such an emotionally incompetent child.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've been playing with idea for a while, so I'm glad I finally got to finish it. Obviously it's very AU, so some information has been altered. 
> 
> To help with the visual, [this](http://www.pngall.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/Ouroboros-PNG-File.png) was the inspiration for their soul mark. Maybe a little clichéd, but I like it.

The first signs of Severus’ mark appear not long after he’s born. His mother is pleased, hopeful that her child won’t be destined for a life like her own. His father barely glances at the spots that had started to show.

*

Severus is six years old when he learns not everyone meets their soulmate.

His mother has a mark on her left wrist, the usual charcoal colour faded to nothing but a faint scar. Severus traces it with his smaller hands, curled on the couch next to her. When he looks up and asks her why it’s that way, his dark eyes shining with curiosity, she smiles at him sadly.

“They died,” she answers simply, not one to sugar coat the truth.

“How?”

“I don’t know. I never met them.” She curls her right hand around Severus’ and sighs. “It happens.”

*

He’s nine when he sees _it_ happen for the first time.

He’s at the neighbourhood park, balancing on a tree branch and hidden from the rest of the children. He likes it up here, away from everyone. He gets to watch, to observe. He doesn’t like the local children, and he knows they don’t like him. But he can learn from them.

He plucks flowers to keep himself company, using what magic he’d learnt to control to make the petals shrivel up before bringing them back to life. It’s a small trick he’d learnt years ago, one of his first signs of magic. His mother always tells him not to do it away from the house – that he ought not to be caught practicing magic in public, however harmless – but he does it anyway. The other children are too caught up in their own games to notice.

Excited shouts catch his attention, and he lets the flower he’d been assaulting drift to the ground as he turns to look. From his branch, he can see most of the park, and it’s easy to catch the source of the yells. A small crowd is gathering around two children, a boy and girl who were seated next to each other on the grass, their hands holding the hems of their trousers up and revealing their ankles.

He’s too far away to be able to see what the design is, but Severus can tell what’s happening. Young children were often careless with their marks; the habit of hiding them not developing until they were eleven or twelve or older. He likes to keep his private – the design a comfort when he hides in his room, away from the yells – but he had seen the others compare and show off their own.

Everyone seems to be happy as they look on, smiling cheerfully. The parents of the children have walked over, shock colouring their faces. The chances of actually finding your soulmate were low, especially so young. Still, they looked pleased.

Later, as he walks home alone, Severus feels a flicker of hope.

*

“You’ll sort Slytherin,” his mother is telling him, sipping at her cup of tea. “But it’s okay if you don’t.”

Severus fiddles with his own glass, the pad of this thumb brushing back and forth over where the cup has chipped. They have to leave soon, to make it to the platform on time. He’s starting his first year at Hogwarts and he doesn’t want anything to go wrong.

“I hope I do,” he says. He’d read all about the school already. Eileen has done everything she could to fulfil his thirst for knowledge, despite Tobias being adamant that there would be no ‘ _pagan bullshit’_ occurring under his roof.

“You’ll like it,” Eileen continues. “You learn quicker than most, so you might get bored, but I think you’ll like it.”

Severus offers her a rare smile. “Do you think I’ll find them?”

He brushes his hand across his ribcage as he asks the question, and Eileen doesn’t need to clarify who _them_ is. “Only one way to find out,” she says, clearing up the evidence of their small breakfast. “Ready?”

Severus nods, grabbing his trunk, and Eileen takes his hand before apparating them both to the platform.

**

Years fly by in a blur.

Severus is sorted Slytherin, as Eileen knew he would be. It isn’t a very warm welcome – his lack of status debilitating – but his intelligence helps him gain respect, which helps him gain power.

He catches Lucius Malfoy’s attention early on, and they’re friends because he’s a good person to befriend, and because no matter how hard Severus tries, Lucius isn’t put off by his rude remarks and moody attitude. And they’re not friends because Lucius is a bastard, no matter how nice his words are or how sweet his smile gets.

He makes other acquaintances, and even more enemies. He meets people he likes or could like, and people he doesn’t like, and people he loathes, and people he thinks he could kill without ever losing sleep. He learns, plays the teacher’s pet to gain himself access to restricted information, and becomes something of an expert in potions, in poisons, in dark magic.

He curses McNair’s tongue into a knot when he’s called a filthy half-blood and challenges anyone else to make a similar comment. He’s respected, or feared. They’re more or less synonymous, anyway.

He watches people meet their mates. Watches Narcissa Black smile smugly when it’s revealed the rune that runs across her collarbone matches the one on Lucius’. Watches Lupin turn red when Sirius proudly announces their matching canine marks. Watches the Evans girl sigh, annoyed, when Potter catches her wrist in the middle of a charms class and yells that they match.

Eventually, it grows to be annoying. He’d used to think _why not me_ , but now it’s just a general question of _why_. The idea that had seemed so fascinating as a child now seemed like little more than an inconvenience.

*

Dumbledore calls him into his office too frequently for Severus’ liking. He’s all but forced to sit and sip tea, keeping up a polite façade so the old man doesn’t get him into trouble. He asks about his classes, his friends. He offers him books, information, that he can’t get anywhere else, and Severus knows it’s little more than a manipulative technique to try and keep him loyal; to keep him off the side of the enemy. He takes the books and lets him think it works.

During their conversations, Dumbledore makes subtle comments Severus knows have been deliberately picked to make him talk about his personal studies. He doesn’t. He had learnt early on to keep his more morbid fascinations to himself, as best he could. What Dumbledore didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Through Dumbledore, he learns that finding your mate isn’t a guaranteed happy ending; that, sometimes, it could cause more pain than never meeting them in the first place.

Severus keeps that in mind; thinks about it whenever he finds himself wishing for a body with a mark that matches his own.

*

He attends Lucius’ wedding in the summer after sixth year. It’s formal, boring. He’s there mostly for show, but the alcohol is of good quality and people are mostly too busy congratulating the happy couple to disturb him too much, so it’s okay.

Evan Rosier appears next to him halfway through the night, obviously pissed, and passes him a glass of amber liquid before offering a cigarette. One turns into two, turns into three, turns into four. Evan ends up dragging him into a spare room, barely letting him breathe as he presses their mouths together.

Severus has a moment of pure panic when the other boy pulls his robe off, eyes immediately zeroing in the ink colouring Evan’s torso. Their marks are different, though. Barely similar except for their placement.

Letting out a relieved sigh, he sheds his own clothing and falls into bed with him.

*

Severus had always known his parents’ marriage wasn’t out of love. His childhood memories were mostly filled with arguments, sometimes violent, sometimes not. Tobias hadn’t known Eileen was a witch when they’d married, and had been pissed upon learning that Severus, too, had magic flowing through him.

His father had never mentioned his mate or his mark, and Eileen had never said anything about the topic, either. Severus had operated under the impression that Tobias didn’t have one, nor did he think the bastard deserved one.

It becomes apparent, rather abruptly, that he’d been wrong.

He returns home to Cokeworth a few days after the wedding, and is greeted by the sight of his father packing. He’s drunk – Severus can smell the whiskey – but his actions are deliberate. He glances at the duffle bags resting on the floor of their small sitting room, one of them already overflowing with clothes, and doesn’t know what to think. 

His mother joins him at the door, offering a small smile. She looks worn out, like she could use a nice twenty hour sleep, and Severus feels a bit of guilt for being gone so long.

“Why don’t we take a walk,” his mother says, not giving him a chance to reply as she urges him back out the door. She follows him down the stairs, past the broken front gate, and onto the street. “Come,” she murmurs, starting off down the road.

They walk side by side, Eileen’s hand snaking around his elbow. It’s dark out, their path illuminated only by the shoddy streetlights and occasional passing car. The summer air is warm but not uncomfortable, and they fall into a companionable silence easily.

Only once they’re out of their street does Severus ask, “Any idea what he’s doing?”

Eileen huffs a laugh, though it sounds more bitter than anything else. “He found her.”

Severus stops their movements, turning to look at her, one eyebrow arched. “His mate?”

“Mm,” Eileen answers. “Two weeks ago.”

“I thought he didn’t have one.”

“You wouldn’t have,” Eileen tells him, resuming their slow pace and pulling him along. “The mark is on his foot. It looks like a rat.”

Severus snorts. “How oddly fitting.”

His mother’s lips twitch at the words. “She’s American, here on holiday. They met at the pub.”

“Oh, they really are soulmates.”

“Don’t start,” Eileen says, but she’s grinning now. Severus is reminded of every time he’d been chided as a child for being rude, the way his mother’s lips had twitched when his remarks had been particularly clever. “Merlin knows how they realised their marks matched,” she continues. “But he’s all packed and ready to run away with her.”

“You don’t seem upset.”

“Neither do you.”

Severus shrugs. There was no love lost between him and Tobias. “Might be good to finally see him piss off.”

Eileen hums again, noncommittal. They’re nearing the local park now, its playground looking almost creepy in the evening light. “I’ll miss the second income, though.”

“We’ll work it out,” he assures her. He has spare cash he can help with – selling potions on the side had made him more than he’d expected – and they can sell the house, move somewhere smaller. The only reason they’d stayed in Cokeworth was for his father’s job, anyway.

They stop at one of the park’s benches, sitting down across from each other. They fall back into a comfortable silence, Eileen breaking it this time with a quiet, “How was the wedding?”

“Okay.”

“I saw photos in the paper. Narcissa looked beautiful.”

Severus hums his agreement. Narcissa always looked beautiful.

“Did you meet anyone?”

“No.”

“So the bite mark on your neck just… appeared?”

Severus purses his lips, only slightly embarrassed that his mother knew what he’d been up to. “No one important.”

“Where was she from?”

“She?”

Eileen grins. “He?”

Sighing, Severus considers not telling her the details, but they were going to be out for a while longer, and she’d eventually find out if she really wanted to, anyway. “Schoolmate. He’s in the year above. But like I said, no one special.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re having fun,” she says, and Severus is grateful for the lack of a comment on his sexuality. He’d never come out, per se, but he had never bothered to hide it, either. Somehow, he’d always assumed his mother would just _know_.

They sit on their bench for an undetermined amount of time, their conversation passing through all different topics rather quickly – school, work, friends, money, the future. They’re both hoping to return home to find Tobias either gone or asleep; the thought of having to say goodbye uncomfortably awkward.

“You’ll find him, you know,” Eileen whispers before they leave, an unreadable expression on her face. She doesn’t look at him, her head turned instead towards the night sky, gaze fixated on the moon. “We can’t both have bad luck.”

Severus smiles, and, for the first time in a long time, lets himself hope that she’s right.

*

His seventh year passes torturously slowly.

He can’t wait to leave. The enthrallment Hogwarts had once offered was long gone, and now he was eager to go and do his own thing, without restrictions.

The long months are made easier by his regular visits to Hogsmeade, where he meets Lucius for tea and butterbeer and sometimes something stronger. He tells him about what’s going on away from the school, elaborates on the rumours running around about a dark wizard taking control.

Severus listens, partly interested. He doesn’t care much about the issue of blood purity – he may believe wizards are superior to muggles, but he _is_ still a half-blood – but the promise of power, of glory, that the man offers… Well. Grand influence is always appealing to those who have none.

“Come to the Manor this Christmas,” Lucius offers. “I can introduce you.”

Severus nods his agreement – it wouldn’t do any harm to meet the man – and finishes his drink. Waving away the muffliato they always used, he stands. “I’ll see you then.”

*

The Dark Lord offers him a job when he finishes school, and Severus takes it because he has nothing else to do. The alternate option would be joining Dumbledore, which isn’t much of an option at all.

He gets more involved with the war than he’d originally anticipated, but manages to talk his way out of Azkaban. He watches Lucius do the same, with the added benefit of money and a young child to help him gain sympathy. Almost everyone else he’d considered a friend gets sentenced, and those who didn’t had already died.

Following the war, he tries to stay lowkey. Dumbledore offers him a teaching post, and he declines it before the words are out of the old man’s mouth. His school years had not been as enjoyable as his mother had hoped, and he has no wish to return.

He uses the reputation he’d gained under the Dark Lord to continue his career, and sets up an apothecary just outside of Knockturn Alley. He is, without a doubt, one of the best in the business, and he earns enough to live comfortably. Independently.

He falls into a routine, working more than most would consider healthy.

Years pass by him. He doesn’t meet his mate.

*

“Business is going well, I presume?”

“Same as always.”

Lucius hums. “I suppose it’s hard to lose money in a required field.”

Severus doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t respond. He sips his tea, eyes glancing to the clock in his small office. Lucius makes a habit of visiting him at work every few months, forcing him to sit for a cup of tea. They had become better friends over the years, though these meetings were usually the only time they saw each other face to face.

“You should visit the Manor.”

“What for?”

Lucius lifts a shoulder in an elegant shrug. “Come see Draco.”

“I’m not good with children. You know that.”

“Yes,” Lucius concedes, smiling slightly. “But he was in diapers the last time you saw him. He’s six now.”

“And not in diapers?”

Lucius chuckles softly. “Fortunately not,” he says, gaze drifting across the books that line the room’s walls. He finishes the last of his tea and stands, hand reaching for the cane Severus knows he doesn’t need. “At least go out, Severus. It would do you good.”

Severus hums but says nothing further, watching him leave before returning to his work.

*

Unbeknownst to Lucius, he does go out. It isn’t what he’d call a common experience, but it does happen more than he cares to admit.

Every so often, he’ll visit a bar. He drinks, mostly, but he also meets people he wouldn’t through work. More often than not he’ll pick a muggle bar – he likes to avoid running into people he knows as much as he can – but he visits magical ones, too.

It’s almost like a routine. These outings are, perhaps, the only time he puts an effort in his appearance. Frankly, he doesn’t care what people think of him; looks or personality wise. But things always went better when he tried.

Standing in front of his home’s only mirror, he stares at himself. He’s dressed only in formfitting trousers, his body tilted to the side, left arm lifted above his head. Like this, he can see his mark clearly.

He counts himself lucky, for his mark is one of the prettier ones he’s seen. He’s spent hours of his lifetime staring at it; dark eyes following the intricate details until they were burned in his memory. It covers most of his left ribcage, the two ouroboros intertwining at the middle before completing each other’s circles. One holds the body of a snake, the other the bones of a dragon.

Grabbing his wand, he presses the tip to the skin and murmurs the words that conceal it. It isn’t that he’s ashamed of his mark, it’s just that, on the off chance he finds his mate during one of these outings, he doesn’t want it to happen in the hurried push and shove of removing clothing. He wants to be prepared. At least, as much as he can be.

Once it’s covered, he drops his wand on the bathroom sink and continues getting ready.

Later that night, he comes home with a brown-haired, blue-eyed beauty. They’re both drunk, exceptionally so, but they manage to make it to the bed without bodily harm.

By the time morning comes, the left side of his bed is empty again.

*

“He’s in the same class as Potter, you know.”

Severus leans back against the heavily padded chair, staring at the fire cackling in Lucius’ study. He jostles his glass, watching as the flames dance, distorted, behind the amber liquid. “Hm?”

“Draco.”

“Oh,” he says. “How unfortunate.”

“Potter’s brat, raised by Black and the werewolf. I can only imagine.”

“I take it they don’t get on?”

“Not at all,” Lucius confirms. “Especially after Potter befriended the Weasley child.”

Severus takes a sip of the whiskey, appreciating the slight burn. “What one?”

Lucius huffs a barely there laugh. “All of them,” he says.

“How unfortunate,” he repeats, words escaping in a lazy drawl. “Poor Draco.”

*

“You should quit smoking.”

Severus doesn’t turn at the voice, just continues to blow the smoke out into the air around him, his lips twitching. “Hello, mother.”

Eileen appears at his side, reaching up to kiss his cheek. He tries to move away from the gesture, even though he knows the effort is futile. His mother smiles at him, and, with a wave of her hand, banishes the cigarette he’d been holding.

“Are you going to offer me tea?”

Sighing, he opens the door to his shop and waits for Eileen to enter before following her inside. He wards the door behind them – he doesn’t work on Sundays – and walks her to the flat above the building.

“What kind?”

“You know I’m not picky.”

 _Unhelpful_ , he wants to say, but keeps the comment to himself. He pulls down two cups and the stack of Earl Grey, and asks, “Why are you here?”

“You should be nicer to your mother.”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he looks back at her, voice filled with fake politeness. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Better,” she grins. “But can’t I just visit?”

“You never _just_ visit.”

“Fine,” she says. “I have news.”

“What is it?”

“Sit down first.”

Now he does roll his eyes. He finishes preparing the tea, adding sugar to Eileen’s and leaving his own as is. He passes her her mug and takes the only other seat at his small kitchen table. “Well?”

“There’s been a death in the family.”

Severus raises his brow at her. “You seem happy about it.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“It was your father.”

Severus stills, staring at her in silent shock. It had been years since he’d thought about Tobias, and almost two decades since they had last seen each other. He thinks he should feel sad, or at least a little upset, upon hearing the news of his father’s death, but all he feels is a familiar sense of apathy.

After a drawn out silence, he raises his mug slightly. “Cheers, then.”

**

Severus is behind the counter, reviewing the month’s orders when he hears the door open. He looks up, surprised to see Lucius standing there. They’d met for a drink only last week, and the elder Malfoy did most of his business orders by owl.

He nods in greeting anyway; about to inquire about his presence when the door opens further and another figure joins him. “Draco,” he says, standing to greet them.

Draco smiles at him, following his father further into the shop. They really do alike, Severus notes. Especially now that Draco had grown into his body; the childish look he’d had the last time they’d crossed paths nowhere in sight.

“Surprised you remember me,” he says. “It’s been… what? Seven years?”

Severus nods in confirmation but sends Lucius a pointed look while answering, “You have very distinctive features.”

Draco grins. “I’m taking that as a compliment.”

 _He would_ , Severus thinks. And so he should _._ “How can I help you?”

Draco pulls a list from his robe pocket, and Lucius takes it from him. “He’s experimenting with healing potions,” he explains, passing the parchment to Severus. “He needs some rather advanced ingredients.”

Advanced and illegal, Severus notes, his eyes scanning the neat handwriting. He isn’t exactly surprised.

“When do you need them by?”

“When will you have them?”

He looks the list over once more, scrolls through a list of contacts internally. “End of the week.”

“That’s fine,” Draco says. “I’ll see you then?”

Severus hums, and Lucius smiles. “Wonderful,” he says. “Sorry we can’t stay, Severus. Much to do. Can’t be late.”

“Understandable,” he murmurs, and Lucius nods briefly before nudging Draco in the direction of the door, cane clicking against the hardwood as they walk. Before the two disappear, Severus catches Draco throw him one last wave goodbye.

*

The rest of the week passes quickly, Severus losing himself in his usual work routine. Draco comes by on Saturday afternoon, without Lucius. It’s later than expected – near his closing time for the day – but he finds he doesn’t mind.

Draco enters with a gush of cold wind, offering him an apologetic smile as the door shuts behind him. “Sorry I couldn’t come sooner,” he says, but offers no further explanation as he spells the dampness from robe. It was getting progressively cooler, winter hitting them with a vengeance. Severus quite likes it.

He waves away the apology and motions for Draco to follow him behind the counter and to his office.  “The last of it came this morning,” he says, moving behind his desk and reaching for a large case. He looks to Draco, a smirk playing at his lips, and says, “Healing potion?”

Draco laughs softly, the sound barely audible. “I may have lied,” he concedes. “Father doesn’t like me playing with poisons.”

“No?” Severus had thought that would be the kind of thing Lucius would encourage.

“He says I’ll hurt myself somehow,” Draco explains, the words said in a way that lets Severus know he disagrees. “And Mother agrees.”

“They can be volatile.”

“Not when you know what you’re doing.”

“And do you?” Severus asks. “Know what you’re doing?”

Draco lips twitch. “Not always,” he admits. “But that’s to be expected. I’m still learning.”

Severus nods, remembering some of the mistakes he’d made when he was Draco’s age. He flips the box open, sliding it closer to the younger man before saying, “Just be careful. Some of these are dangerous.”

Draco moves closer to examine the ingredients, slender hands picking up a jar of dead camel spiders. “I’ll try,” Draco answers, and his voice has a playful nature to it that Severus tries not to think about.

He clears his throat, watching as Draco examines some of the other vials in the box. “Should I be expecting a sudden death?”

The question is half a joke, but he is curious as to what Draco plans on doing with whatever he makes. He knows the ingredients requested could easily create something lethal, and there was very little point in that unless you were going to use it.

Draco laughs again, placing the last jar back in the case. “No,” he says. “This is just practice. I don’t plan to use anything.”

Severus nods. He’d done the same thing when he was at school, though the urge to use the end results on Potter and his friends had always been hard to ignore.

“But this will do perfectly,” Draco continues, straightening up and reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a pouch of money, the galleons clinking together. “How much do I owe you?”

Severus names his price. The order is an expensive one, and a potentially dangerous deal for him to make, considering at least half the items were banned in England. Still, Draco hands the money over without issue.

“Thank you,” he says, grabbing the case from the table. “I’ll see you next time?”

Severus nods again, walking him back into the store and watching him go.

*

‘Next time’ is just over two weeks later. Draco appears in his shop early on a Monday morning, wrapped up in a thick coat and long scarf that covers half of his face. His cheeks are flushed pink from the cold, and his gloved hands hold onto a travel mug containing what Severus assumes is tea.

“Thank Merlin,” he huffs, closing the door behind him. “You have wonderful heating,” he says, by way of greeting, and walks towards where Severus stands, restacking a set of pepperup.

“It’s cold, then?”

“Bloody freezing,” Draco confirms, taking a sip of his drink. “Sorry I didn’t bring you any,” he says, tilting his head to the mug. “I thought you’d think I poisoned it.”

Severus smiles briefly. “It’s fine,” he says. “So things went well?”

“For the most part. No explosions or injuries, so I can’t complain.”

“Are there usually explosions and injuries when you’re in a lab?”

“Occasionally,” Draco answers truthfully. “Have you never had a cauldron blow up in your face?”

“Not in a very long time,” Severus tells him.

“Oh, you really are good.”

Severus places the last of the pepperup on the shelf and turns to face him. “What did you need?”

“Beetle eyes,” Draco says. “And boomslang skin. I thought I had more at home but I ran out.”

“Down there,” Severus tells him, pointing to the backend of the shop.

Draco nods and walks to where he’d been pointed, curious eyes trailing over the shop’s interior. It was split into three sections – prepared brews, ingredients, and supplies. The readymade potions took up the shelves near the front, while the ingredients had the other end. General supplies were rested along the back wall, starting near the counter and running the length of the store.

He remembers visiting with his father once, when he was very little. The apothecary had definitely advanced since then. Draco assumes Severus had further expended the building’s interior with magic, because it no longer had a cramped feeling to it. He remembers the rows between shelves being too narrow, but now there was room for him to move freely.

He zigzags through the isles, scanning the labels. He finds what he needs easily enough, Severus’ filing system almost obsessive, and returns to the front.

“Do you run everything yourself?”

Severus hums in confirmation, taking his items and bagging them for him.

“Really?” he asks, because Draco can’t quite comprehend how much work would need to be done to do so. “Do you brew everything yourself?”

“Yes,” Severus answers, lips twitching at Draco’s apparent bewilderment.

“Where’s your lab?”

“There’s a room underneath,” Severus explains. “It works well enough.”

Draco passes over his payment and leans against the counter. “Why not get someone to help?”

“Because then I would have to put up with someone for most of the day.”

Draco laughs. “No mate, then?”

Severus falters at the question – it wasn’t usually asked, especially not with people you hardly knew. “No,” he says eventually.

“Me neither.”

“I wouldn’t worry,” Severus tells him. “You’re still young.”

“Technically, so are you,” Draco answers. He’s right, too. A wizard’s lifespan is much longer than that of the average muggle, and Severus knows there’s another hundred or so years of his life left. It just doesn’t feel that way.

“Older than you,” he says.

“Not by much,” Draco replies, grabbing hold of his bag. “See you soon.”

*

Draco visits the next week, just before noon on a Thursday. It’s storming again, the wind and rain keeping most from being out. He stumbles through the door, wrapped up in a similar style as last time, only now he holds a mug in each hand and a paper bag against his side.

“Hi,” he says, placing the items on the counter in front of Severus and smiling as if he were proud for making it without falling over.

“You’re even worse than your father, aren’t you?” Severus says, glancing at the mugs and putting aside the book he’d been reading.

“Possibly,” Draco says. “But you can’t complain. I’m giving you a free brunch.” And then, as if an afterthought, he adds, “Not poisoned.”

“Lucky me,” Severus responds sarcastically, though there’s a hint of a smile on his face.

Draco ignores him and reaches for the bag, tearing a line through the paper to expose a small collection of pastries. “Are you going to let me stay?”

Severus wonders if he ever had a choice. While Draco wasn’t what he had thought Lucius Malfoy’s son would be, the stubborn streak in both his parents was obviously present in him, too.

“May as well,” he says. “You’ve come all this way.”

“Good,” Draco murmurs, sliding a mug over to him. “I don’t know how you take it, so I guessed.”

As Severus takes hold of the mug, Draco moves a spare stool and sits next to the older man. “Okay?” he asks, once Severus has tested the tea.

“Close enough,” he answers. “Thank you.”

“What’d I get wrong?”

“Too much sugar.”

Draco makes a face Severus can’t read and reaches for his own mug. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

“Next time?”

Draco smiles at him, as if he hadn’t meant for the words to slip out. “Too ambitious?”

Severus shrugs slightly. “I don’t understand why you’d want to.”

“I like it here,” Draco replies, reaching for a pastry and tearing a bite off with his fingers. “Home gets boring. And Father says you’re good company.”

“Is that all he says?”

Draco swallows the bite, and Severus tries not the stare when the tip of his tongue pokes out to lick the remaining sugar form his bottom lip. “He also says you’re a hermit who should go out more,” Draco admits. “But he’s an extrovert and tells me the same thing, so I wouldn’t think anything of it.”

“Not fond of being a socialite?”

“Not really,” Draco tells him. “I mean, I don’t hate it. But most of them are idiots and I get bored.”

“And you’re not an idiot?”

“I hope not.”

Severus just shakes his head, surprised to find himself growing fond of the boy. They fall into an easy conversation of mostly professional topics, nibbling away at the food Draco had brought. No one enters the apothecary while they do so; the weather seeming to only grow worse as time passes.

They eventually fall into an only slightly awkward silence, where Draco stands to gather the ingredients he’d come to buy.

“I’ve been thinking,” he says, after his items are bagged and the evidence of their meal has been banished. “If you’re opposed to social interaction, why work in retail?”

“It’s not so bad,” Severus tells him. “Most don’t talk as much as you do.”

“And here I was, just starting to think you liked my company.”

“You’re not horrible,” Severus says, smirking when Draco mocks offence.

“I’ll just have to try harder.”

*

Draco’s visits grow more frequent after that. He shows up at least twice a week, thanking him each time for not making the shop look like Christmas had thrown up in it.

The visits are mostly the same. He’ll always bring tea, occasionally accompanied by something more. Sometimes they’re short, where he buys when he needs before dashing away, and sometimes he stays around, having lengthy conversations on the pros and cons of one thing or another.

He stays for half the day on one occasion, helping Severus restack some shelves and talking with the few customers who do come in. That day, Severus closes the shop early and lets Draco into his living area, cooking them both a late lunch while the boy scans the ceiling high bookshelves that line his walls.

They’re oddly compatible, working side by side without issue; as if it was what they’d been made to do.

*

“I got you a Christmas present,” Draco announces, brushing snow from his robe.

“Why?”

Shrugging, Draco answers, “Because I wanted to. And because I saw it and all I could think of was you.”

Severus raises his brow, curious, but walks him upstairs to his flat before saying anything further. Christmas was only days away, and he’d shut the apothecary for the holidays already.

“Show me then.”

Draco rids himself of his scarf and outer cloak, hanging them across the back of Severus’ couch. He passes the bag containing the present to the other man and takes a seat near the already cackling fire, an excited grin on his face.

“Open it.”

He does, pulling the gift from the bag and looking it over. It’s large, heavy. Draco has wrapped it neatly in deep green paper, a glittering black bow on top, and Severus appreciates the sentiment.

He tears a hole in the wrapping with his fingernail, feeling more than a little awkward as he pulls it away. Underneath, there’s a sleek black box with no markings, no clues that give away what’s inside. He glances at Draco, who’s still looking on with a smile, bottom lip held between his teeth, before opening the lid.

The contents are not what he’d expected, and his eyes widen slightly in shock, mouth opening infinitesimally. Inside, lying upon a padding of black velvet, are a set of vials that Severus can tell are made purely from crystal and glass. They glisten under the light, the flames from his fireplace dancing in the corners of their silver tops.

Severus _knows_ that they’re expensive; probably the best money can buy. He feels guilty for not getting Draco anything, but he hadn’t bought a gift for anyone in years, and the thought had never crossed his mind.

“Draco…” he starts, looking back up at him. “I didn’t—”

“I didn’t expect you to get me anything,” Draco says, waving a hand and shutting him up. “Do you like them? They reminded me of you.”

“They’re beautiful,” Severus answers truthfully, and Draco grins at him again, his eyes shining happily.

*

Christmas day comes, and Severus floos to his mother’s cottage for lunch, as is their usual tradition. Neither of them are very fond of the holiday, though Eileen still adds a tree to her décor.

Lunch passes smoothly, and Severus washes up while Eileen starts a fire. It reminds him of when he was younger, of when his mother would force him to do chores in the hopes that it would keep him in the house and out of trouble. It rarely worked.

Eventually he moves to the lounge, taking his seat and staring out the window, watching as the snow builds. Eileen joins him, handing him a steaming mug before settling near the fire. She pushes her hair away from her face, the once jet black strands now fading to a light grey, and smiles at him.

He adjusts the mug in his hand, glancing at the marshmallow that bops in the liquid.  “Hot cocoa?” he says, raising an eyebrow at her. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not five.”

“But you’ll drink it anyway.”

And he does, Eileen watching him smugly. They don’t do presents – had decided years ago that there isn’t any point – so Severus continues to simply watch the snow, his thoughts drifting. He’d received an invitation to a ball at Malfoy Manor, and he thinks of Draco, dressed impeccably in expensive fabric, bored out of his mind while he plays the dutiful son.

“You look happier,” Eileen comments, breaking the lengthy silence. Her voice is soft, her head tilted slightly as she looks at him.

He brings his gaze from the window to her face, contemplating the words. Draco’s presence had definitely added a missing _something_ to his life, and he is happier because of it. Lost in thought, he doesn’t say anything at first; his mother’s comment hanging in the air between them.

And then, as if unsure, he asks, “Is there a way to inquire about someone’s mark, without seeming desperate?”

A smile lights Eileen’s face, her eyes glinting. “Oh, honey,” she says, and Severus almost regrets asking.

*

“Want another?”

Severus nods, rubbing his temple gently. He never reopens the apothecary until the New Year, so he’d been left with more free time than usual. He’d spent most of it in the lab, working on replenishing his stock like he usually did. The decision to go out had been rather last minute.

The bartender places another whiskey in front of him, and Severus murmurs his thanks before drinking half the glass in one go. It’s cheap, nothing like the bottles he has at home, or the liquid kept in Lucius’ crystal decanter. But it does the job.

He’d come out with the intention of finding someone to fuck, but now that he was here, he longs for the quiet of his flat. For his own space, without ridiculous music blaring in the background, or far too eager hands creeping against his side.

He gets more than one offer, and declines them all. He isn’t entirely sure how or why he manages to attract the type of people he does – wide-eyed university students, most of them looking like they’d break if he went too rough – but they remind him of Draco. And it was with that in mind that he moves back to the bar, scowling in a way he knows will put off people’s attentions.

He finishes his drink and stands, closing his eyes as he sways for a moment. Pulling money from his back pocket, he pays the bartender and heads out, making his way home.

He finds a letter waiting for him when he gets there, and he brings it up to his room. Stripping down to nothing but his pants, he sits on his bed’s edge and scans the envelope. He recognises the Malfoy seal, and fights a smile as he tears the envelope open.

It’s a short message, written in Draco’s distinct cursive.

 

_Coming by tomorrow. Need advice on antidotes._

_Floo to cancel._

_Draco x_

 

Waving the lights off, he lets the letter drop to his bedside table and crawls under his duvet. As he closes his eyes, he’s surprised to find himself actually looking forward to waking up.

*

“Did you have a good Christmas?”

“Mm,” Severus hums. “Same as always. You?”

“Oh, wonderful,” Draco answers, following Severus through the apothecary. “I got to witness Maura Zabini throw up in our drawing room.”

Severus snorts. “I’m sure your parents appreciated that.”

“My mother can be very colourful with her insults,” he says, grinning. And then, “You’re not a fan of bright lights, are you?”

They’re standing in Severus’ personal lab, the room’s only light coming from the small stairwell they’d just walked through. Severus sighs at the comment, waving his wand and illuminating the room. A row of torches along every wall come to life, their little flames dancing.

“Ooh, that sets a mood,” Draco murmurs, laughing when Severus glares at him.

“You said you needed advice?”

“Yeah,” Draco confirms, smile disappearing. He hands Severus a piece of parchment with a handwritten procedure on it. “I’ve been working with antidotes to venom,” he says. “I liked it when we did it at school, so I’ve been experimenting. I’ve come into some issues now, though.”

“What are you stuck on?”

“The cauldron almost explodes every time I reach the horklump juice.”

“Okay,” Severus says, dragging the word out. He looks over the recipe, slightly impressed that Draco had even managed to get as far as he had. “Have you had further training?” he asks, because the boy had barely been out of school for a year, and Hogwarts’ training alone wouldn’t have been enough to get him that far.

“Only by my father.”

That explains a bit, Severus thinks. Lucius had been rather good in the lab when they were young, had even helped with some of Severus’ work for the Dark Lord. “What were your grades like?”

“All Os,” Draco answers, and Severus can easily see the pride in that statement. “I told you I was good.”

“I’d like to see you in action,” Severus says, passing the parchment back to him. “I want you to make this like you would at home.”

“But I ca—”

“I’m going to help you. But only when you need it.”

Draco huffs, his bottom lip sticking out in a slight pout. “Can’t you just do it for me?”

“You won’t learn that way.”

“You’ll regret it when I blow up your lab,” Draco says, but moves to set up one of the work benches anyway.

Severus helps him prepare the ingredients, watching as Draco lays everything out in the order they’ll need. They work together easily, Draco doing most of the heavy labour as Severus watches, offering a few tips to make the process more efficient.

They have to try twice, but Severus manages to help him past the horklump juice issue. They almost complete the potion, but run into more difficulties with the moonstone. Severus is prepared to try again, but Draco decides three attempts is enough for one day, and they move back to the main floor of the apothecary.

“I can come again tomorrow if you want,” Draco says. “But in the meantime, have lunch with me?”

Severus raises an eyebrow at the offer, watching as Draco wraps his ridiculously long scarf around his neck. “You want to go out in the snow?”

“It won’t be snowing in the restaurant,” Draco answers, shrugging. “And it’s only Diagon Alley.”

Severus looks at him, and then out to the snow covered streets, and then back again. “Fine,” he says. “Let me get my other robe.”

*

They walk through the streets huddled close together, despite Draco’s warming charm. Severus lights a smoke and lets Draco take a drag when he asks, watching the way Draco holds the bud between his lips delicately.

They go to a café Severus has never been to, despite living so close, and Draco fills the empty space with mindless chatter that Severus actually listens to. He’s surprised, really, at how much attention he gives the boy. Had it been anyone else, he likely would have tuned out.

Severus feels Draco’s foot brush against his own halfway through the meal, but doesn’t move away. As if encouraged, Draco shifts forward, hooking his ankle around Severus’ and smiling at him from across the table.

“I can come tomorrow?” he asks, head tilting to the side slightly.

“Of course.”

*

Draco comes back early the next morning, and Severus wonders where he gets the energy to always look so alive. They work on the potion again, Severus assisting more this time. Eventually they get it, Draco grinning in triumph as he watches the liquid change to the correct colour.

Severus watches him with something akin to pride.

After that, his presence in the lab becomes something of a habit. He’ll show up, when granted permission, and spend most of the day assisting Severus as he restocks for the New Year. Severus doesn’t mind the company, and appreciates the added benefit of another pair of competent hands.

“I should just offer you a job,” he says one day. “You’re here enough.”

Draco merely smiles at him.

Somewhere, between murmured instructions and comments on beetle eyes, Draco tells him about his parent’s plans for a New Year’s ball. He asks if he wants to come, but isn’t surprised when Severus declines.

Lucius still sends a formal invitation.

*

Severus watches as his last set of customers walk towards the door, ready for the working week to finally end. He’s tired; annoyed still from the dispute he’d gotten into earlier. He’d always disliked clients who thought they knew better – especially amateur ones.

The door is almost completely shut when a new hand pushes it open again. He opens his mouth, prepared to tell them to piss off, but shuts it when he sees Draco standing there.

“I hope it’s okay that I’m here,” he says quickly, glancing at Severus’ annoyed expression. “Father didn’t tell me it was your birthday until an hour ago. And I wanted… Well—”

“It’s fine,” Severus murmurs, cutting him off. He glances to the younger man’s hand, where he holds a bottle of something Severus can’t see the label of. “Come upstairs, Draco.”

Draco nods, relieved, and helps him close the shop before following him upstairs.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” he asks again, white teeth biting down on his bottom lip. “I know you’re not the type to really… celebrate.”

He is right, of course. Severus can’t remember the last time he’d properly celebrated his birthday. As far as he was concerned, it was merely a reminder that he’d survived another year. That he’d gone another three hundred and sixty five days without meeting his mate.

“Your company is more than welcome, Draco,” he says, and the annoyance of the day seems to slowly dissipate when Draco smiles at him as if those words were the best thing he’s ever been told.

*

The bottle Draco had brought with him was firewhiskey – the expensive kind Severus had only ever seen in the hands of Lucius – and they’d been drinking it steadily. By now, hours after Draco’s initial arrival, they had both had enough to be more than slightly buzzed.

They’re sat next to each other on his lounge, far too close to be considered socially acceptable, but Severus can’t seem to care. Soft fingers are wrapped loosely around his wrist; as if to keep him near, like Draco’s scared Severus is going to run away.

The boy is, apparently, an affectionate drunk. It’s oddly fitting. Severus doesn’t know why he’d expected anything else.

“You should have told me,” Draco is saying, moving closer still. He lets his head fall to Severus’ shoulder, and Severus lets him keep it there. “I would have bought you another present.”

“I don’t need one,” Severus murmurs, voice low. He has no idea how they’d ended up like this, but Draco’s whole body is turned towards his, their limbs all but intertwined. They were always close when they worked together, but this is a different kind of proximity. A more intimate kind. The type that makes the pit of his stomach stir.

“But I like to shop,” Draco says, and when Severus looks down at him, he can see a small pout.

“There’s always next year,” he tells him.

“Too far away,” Draco mumbles, but then smiles brightly. He tilts his head up again, pulling back so his hand is on Severus’ shoulder; elbow resting on the back of the couch, fingers brushing against the part on Severus’ neck where fabric meets flesh. “You’ll still want me around in a year?”

Severus indulges him with a smile, the alcohol making him more relaxed. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Draco shrugs slightly. “You have a reputation. Hard man to please. Even harder to keep around,” he says. “And the only person I’ve ever seen you spend more than five minutes with is my father.”

“Maybe it’s a Malfoy thing.”

“We _are_ very persistent people,” Draco agrees, and then, with a playful quality to his voice, he adds, “Please tell me you like me more than my father.”

Severus laughs, the noise barely more than a sigh. “I like you more than your father,” he says quietly, because it’s true and there’s no reason not to say it, especially not when alcohol brings forth Draco’s apparent insecurity.

Draco keeps looking up at him, face half covered in shadows, and Severus watches as emotions flicker through the crystal blue of his eyes. _Narcissa’s,_ he thinks. Not Lucius’.

The silence stretches, the air around them growing tenser with each passing second. Severus can’t tell what Draco is thinking, is too drunk to read the expression, but the sight of him is too beautiful to turn away from.

And then, without preamble, Draco is in his lap.

It’s a surprisingly graceful move, considering their state of intoxication. One moment Draco is beside him, and the next he’s got a knee on either side of thighs, his smaller body pressing Severus into the back of the couch. He can feel Draco’s erection, half hard, and it makes his own arousal stir.

“Draco,” he starts to say, his voice rough.  He barely finishes the word before he’s interrupted by a mouth on his own, Draco’s lips soft and warm and wet, and so, _so_ welcome.

He breathes him in, nips at his bottom lip and eases the sting with his tongue. His arms snake around Draco’s waist, fingers splaying out over his back and keeping him steady. He can feel Draco smiling against his mouth, like he’s trying not to giggle.

“We can compensate,” Draco says when they pull away from each other, his breath heavy. “This can be your present.”

Severus shakes his head with an air of fondness, leaning in to capture his mouth once more. Their bodies rock against each other’s, Draco’s hands clutching onto Severus’ shoulders for dear life. They’re too drunk, too tired, to do everything Severus has thought about doing, but the consistent weight of Draco on him, the grinding of their hips – it was more than enough.

They remain mostly clothed, hands opening robes but not bothering to pull them off. Draco’s hand reaches for his trousers, fingers fumbling with the zip. Severus does the same to him, as best he can in their current position, and savours every moan, whimper, whine, Draco gives him in return.

It’s messy, it’s raw, it’s real. It makes Severus feel alive in a way he never has. Makes his body crave for the chance to lay Draco down and take his time. To savour it.

 _Soon_ ¸ he thinks. And then moves to kiss him again.

*

The next morning, Severus wakes with a pounding head and a warm body next to his.

He opens his eyes, squinting against the instant pain it brings, and looks around. The robe he’d worn was lying on the floor beside his bed, though he still sported the simple button down and trousers he usually wore beneath it. Draco lies to his left, dressed similarly, his white blond hair free from its usual product and hanging across his forehead. He’s pressed close to Severus’ side, snoring softly, his arms huddled between their bodies.

Now, as he looks at Draco, none of the previous night’s optimism is present. Guilt nags at him, the feeling that he should have waited until Draco wasn’t drunk hard to shake.

He slips from the bed as quietly as he can, placing a hand on the wall to steady himself, and makes his way downstairs to the shop. It’s Sunday, so the apothecary is closed, but he needs something for his hangover. He finds the right potion quickly, downing the vial in one go and grimacing at the taste, before grabbing another and walking back to his bedroom.

Draco is awake when he gets there; face half pressed into Severus’ pillow, one blue eye peeking out between strands of soft hair. Severus hesitates at the door, taken aback at how lovely Draco looks in the early morning light.

“Please tell me that’ll fix my headache,” Draco mumbles, the words muffled.

Severus nods and moves to him, sitting on the bed and passing him the potion. He watches Draco sit up and take it, feeling somewhat awkward. Rarely did he have to deal with the morning after, and never with someone he genuinely cared for.

“You’re already overthinking it,” Draco says. His tone suggests he isn’t surprised. “Don’t,” he murmurs, face serious. “I promise you’re not a monster who took advantage of me.”

Severus’ lips twitch, but he doesn’t say anything in response. Draco sighs.

“I wanted it. I _still_ want it,” he says. “If I hadn’t promised my mother I’d meet her in under an hour, I’d be trying to get you to actually fuck me this time.”

Severus does smile now. Barely, but Draco can see it.

He stands, picking his own cloak from the ground, and then leans to press a kiss to Severus’ cheek. “I’ll see you soon,” he whispers. “ _Stop thinking.”_

As he watches him go, Severus wishes it were that easy.

*

He showers once Draco leaves, the hot water doing nothing to help clear his head. His fingers trail over his ribcage, tracing the details of his mark. He still hadn’t seen Draco’s. And the boy hadn’t seen his.

That little detail only seemed to worsen things in his mind. Sighing, he cuts the shower short and exits. There was no reason to sit around frustrated all day.

*

He knocks on his mother’s front door, listening to her footsteps as she moves around the house. He hadn’t sent any warning before coming, but he doesn’t think it’ll be a problem. She always did tell him he ought to visit more.

Eileen is surprised to see him, but smiles and lets him in anyway. “You look tired,” she comments, walking him to her sitting room.

Severus sprawls across her couch, the same way he had when he was a teen. “Late night.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I slept with Lucius Malfoy’s son,” he says, because there’s no point in not being blunt. Not when it was the reason he was here in the first place. “Well, almost.”

Eileen stares at him, and Severus doesn’t need to look up to see the surprise on her face. He hears her sigh, and then, “I’ll put the kettle on, shall I?”

She leaves the room, and Severus listens to the clinking in the kitchen as she makes tea. He doesn’t know _why_ he’s so bothered, or what he expects to get from being here, but here he is.

He sits up properly when Eileen hands him a mug, and says nothing while she takes her own seat. 

“Does Lucius know?”

“No.” And if Severus has any say in it, he won’t. He can’t picture the elder Malfoy taking it very well.

Eileen sighs again, hand rubbing at her forehead. “He’s the one you asked about last time, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“What’s his mark?”

“I haven’t seen it.”

“How have you not seen it? You said you slept together.”

“I said almost,” Severus mumbles, feeling all of sixteen again. He’s never quite managed to get rid of the half-awkward-half-embarrassed feeling he gets whenever his sex life is the topic of conversation. “We were still dressed.”

“Right,” Eileen says to herself, adjusting in her seat. “Do you think…” she starts, choosing her words carefully. “Do you think there is a chance that you match?”

Severus doesn’t look at her, his hands fiddling with the delicate cup she’d handed him. “I don’t know,” he says eventually, quietly.

And that's the whole point, isn’t it? The reason he's been so worried. Because he wants them to match. Because he _likes_  Draco, more than he does anyone else. But if they didn’t… then there was no point, was there? All he’d be doing is stopping Draco from meeting his real mate. It’d all be for nothing.

“Sweetie,” Eileen says, and Severus swallows at the term. His mother had only ever used endearments when she was worried. “Why don’t you just ask?”

“I can’t.”

Eileen sips her tea, a heavy silence consuming the room. The obvious question fills the air between them.

_Why can’t you?_

*

The following weeks are less than ideal.

At the end of their last meeting, Eileen had told him to stop doubting himself and just go for it. That it really isn’t that big of a deal either way.

Severus had decided to ignore her entirely. After all, if he had perfected anything in his lifetime, it was distancing himself from people.

He still sees Draco, but the easy quality of their relationship is gone, replaced by an obvious strain. He doesn’t let himself relax around the younger man, and he can tell that Draco doesn’t like it. Can see his disappointment in the clench of his jaw, in the way his words grow harsher.

Severus hopes that it will reduce Draco’s visits, but the boy doesn’t give up. He even comes with his father on one occasion, a smug air about him when Lucius makes Severus talk more in an hour than Draco had heard all week.

A growing need to get away sends him to the south of France, where he attends some fancy potions conference. He’d been invited consistently for years, and hadn’t gone once. The organiser – an old acquaintance from his days under the Dark Lord’s thumb – almost jumps out of his skin when he sees him there.

It lasts for three days, and it’s everything he's ever thought it would be: slow, dull, irritating. 

By the time it ends, he actually misses home.

More importantly, he misses Draco.

*

The sight of Eileen in the apothecary isn’t something he expects, especially not late on a Tuesday afternoon. He looks at her suspiciously as she shuts the door, his eyes narrowing.

“What do you want?” he asks when she’s near enough, ignoring the _don’t be rude_ she sends his way.

“This is an apothecary, is it not?” she says. “You sell ingredients, don’t you?”

“But you never shop here.”

It’s true, of course. She rarely spent any time with a cauldron. There was never any need, not when one had a disposable son who was far more experienced with the art.

“Well I am now,” she tells him, and Severus sighs.

“Fine,” he responds. “What do you need?”

“Uh,” she falters, glancing at the shelves. “Angel’s Trumpet.”

“Really,” Severus deadpans. “Angel’s Trumpet.”

“Yes.”

“Why on earth would you need a bunch of lethal flowers?”

“Oh, _fine_ ,” Eileen concedes. “Stop being a smartarse. I wanted to see if you were okay.”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“Because you went to a three day conference with people you don’t like,” she says, like it’s obvious. “Now I know you, Severus. Something’s up.”

“Maybe I just wanted new scenery.”

“You don’t even like France,” she responds dryly, and Severus remembers every _you sound just like your mother_ he’s ever been told. “It’s about the boy, isn’t it?”

“No.”

“I can tell when you’re lying.”

Rolling his eyes, Severus asks, “What do you want from me?”

“Did you speak to him about it?”

“No,” Severus repeats. He’s avoided the topic entirely. “What does it matter? We probably don’t even match.”

“You don’t always need to match,” Eileen tells him, serious. “It could be good for you. He made you happier.”

Severus opens his mouth to respond, but quiets when he hears the door open. It’s a welcome interruption – his mother won’t argue when there’s an audience.

He stands to greet the customer, and then stops dead when he sees who’s standing there.

“Draco,” he says softly, shooting Eileen a glance. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, you’re acting like a moron,” Draco says, matter of fact. “And I’m not going to let you being an idiot ruin our relationship. So I came to yell at you.”

In the background, before he can even think of responding, Severus hears his mother speak.

“Ooh, I like him,” she says, face split in a wide grin.

“You’re not helping,” he snaps, annoyed.  

“And he’s right,” Eileen continues, unaffected by his attitude. “You’re an idiot when it comes to these things. Go upstairs and sort it out.”

“It’s the middle of the day.”

“I can take over.”

Severus sighs. “ _Mother,”_ he says, catching the way Draco’s face contorts in surprise.

“Don’t argue,” Eileen says. “Just go.”

A moment passes where all they do is stare at each other, waiting for the other to back down. Eventually, Severus yields.

“Fine,” he murmurs, damning his mother to Hell and back. “Draco, come.”

Draco’s gaze flicks between the two of them, but he does as he’s told.

Eileen calls a soft _it was nice to meet you, dear_ when he walks past, and he turns to look back at her. “You too,” he says, but it sounds more like a question than anything else. Eileen simply smiles.

*

“Is that really your mother?” Draco asks, once they’re standing in Severus’ living quarters.

“Yes.”

“That explains so much,” he murmurs, not bothering to elaborate.

Severus sits on the nearest chair, fingers reaching to rub at his forehead. “You said you wanted to yell?”

“We could just talk like adults,” Draco tells him. “Not that there’s much for me to say. You’re the one who ran away like a child.”

Severus bristles. “It was work related.”

Draco looks at him, and Severus can practically hear the _don’t take me for a fool._

Draco keeps staring at him, eyes shining with emotion like they always do. Severus can’t look. Can’t see how hurt he really is.

“Severus,” Draco says eventually, sighing loudly. The anger seems to drain from his body, like he’s too tired to keep it up. He sits next to him, teeth gnawing at his bottom lip. “What’s your mark?”

His voice is barely louder than a whisper, but Severus hears it anyway. It makes his stomach clench in anticipation.

“Why?”

“Because it’s about time I knew,” Draco says. “It’s why you ran off, isn’t it? You don’t think we could match.” And then, after a pause and looking like he’s just figured something out, he adds. “Or you’re scared that we don’t.”

“There’s no point if we don’t.”

“Show me your mark,” Draco repeats. He waits, watching him expectantly. When Severus doesn’t move, he sighs again. “Fine. I’ll show you mine instead.”

Severus watches with held breath as Draco’s fingers move to the top of his robe, slipping the buttons from their holes. He thinks he should tell him not to, but he doesn’t want to do that. Has a desperate need to see what’s underneath.

Draco pulls his outer robe off, and Severus tries not to hope when his fingers start to unbutton his shirt, too. He tells himself that torsos are a common place for marks, reminds himself of every other near encounter he’s ever experienced.

But then Draco has his shirt off, too, and the design staring back at him is achingly familiar. Just like his own, detail for detail.

It’s like his whole world stops. Like every doubt and negative emotion he’s experienced over the past month had never even existed. All that matters is the mark, the confirmation of a deep connection.

He exhales, hating how shaky he feels. Draco’s staring at him still, but Severus can’t look away from the mark. Slowly, he reaches a hand out, the pads of his finger’s ghosting over Draco’s marked skin. He starts at the snake’s head, tracing the curve of its body until he reaches the dragon’s head, and again until he completes the full length of the ouroboro.

In the back of his mind, he thinks: _how oddly fitting._

“Well?” Draco asks, but the breathlessness of it makes Severus think he already knows.

Instead of a verbal answer, Severus leans in and captures his mouth in a kiss. It’s rough, desperate, but it doesn’t matter. Because Draco kisses him back anyway. Because Draco is his. _His._

Draco grabs hold of his shoulders, pulling back slightly. “Yes?” he asks, eyes wide.

“Yes,” Severus repeats, watching as Draco laughs softly, giddy, before kissing him again.

“Let me see,” he mumbles against his lips. “I want to see.”

Severus undoes his robe with magic and impatiently tugs at his shirt. He eventually rips it off, savouring the way Draco looks when he catches sight of the mark.   

“Oh,” Draco breathes, unable to keep the grin off his face. He slides his hand over Severus’ torso, fingertips trailing the mark the same way Severus had touched his. “I hoped it would be you,” he whispers. “You have no idea how much I hoped…”

“I do,” Severus tells him, pressing his lips to the corner of Draco’s mouth. “Believe me, Draco. I do.”

And he did. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated. Hope you liked it!


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